Eight approaches in three minutes. I stare at my phone, battling with the contents of the screen, a text notification from Jeremiah or Elliot. Are you ready? Reads the text.
Across me, Derek laughs quietly to himself, shoulders shrugging, the only message he sends that tells me he’s alive. Instead of lying, I innovated a better path: alcohol.
I convinced Derek to get a bottle and plied him into drinking it entirely. Since I already learnt he’s a lightweight back at the party, I used the guilt to keep him glugging until he’d crumbled past the point of saying no. Then I went on a little more.
Of course, pressuring someone into drinking isn’t my greenest flag, but at least it will postpone the lying. I don’t have any more energy to keep it up tonight.
Since the waiter’s come and gone,
